


Until You Stop Breathing

by Sweety_Bird



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sexual Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Bird/pseuds/Sweety_Bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know the title sucks. Gimme a break. </p>
<p>So I was watching Iron Man 2, and I finally realized in the one scene that when Tony asks Natasha what she would do if she was dying and she says she'd do what she wanted with whoever she wanted to do it with, it hit me that she HAD to mean Clint. And then this.</p>
<p>Characters don't belong to me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. There Are No Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> I know the title sucks. Gimme a break. 
> 
> So I was watching Iron Man 2, and I finally realized in the one scene that when Tony asks Natasha what she would do if she was dying and she says she'd do what she wanted with whoever she wanted to do it with, it hit me that she HAD to mean Clint. And then this.
> 
> Characters don't belong to me.

_Tony gazed up at the woman who was patting make-up on his cheek, trying to drive up the courage to ask her a question. He didnt want to incriminate himself.. And yet, what did he have to lose? "Can I ask you a question? Hypothetically, of course," he finally asked._

_Natasha lowered the pad she was using to cover a cut on his cheek with make-up, an eyebrow quirking up slightly. This was a side of him she had not seen before. Slightly wary, she put on one of her practiced smiles and relented, "Sure."_

_For a moment Tony was silent. "What would you do, if it was your last birthday?" He asked, meeting her eye. It sounded so incredibly suspicious to his own ears, but what the hell? He was a dead man. Natasha blinked, processing this for a few moments before a genuine smile crossed her features. "I'd do whatever I wanted. With whoever I wanted to do it with."_

\-------

"What do you _mean_ I'm dying?" Natasha snapped, slapping her hands down on the conference table as she leaned forward dangerously. Across from her, Nick Fury sat calmly with one leg crossed over the other, his one-eyed gaze trained on her. 

"You heard me, Romanoff," he said evenly, though he did look somewhat remorseful. Standing, he walked around the table to stand next to her. The agent hadn't moved, didn't even turn to look at him as he lifted his hand to tug the collar of her shirt down. There was a small cut just visible there, healing nicely and seemingly a harmless scrape. 

"We think whatever was on the blade that did this is some sort of poison. You won't actually show symptoms until about an hour before you die- its meant to hide itself until its everywhere in your body before it kills you," Fury went on, releasing the neckline of her shirt. Natasha still wouldn't look at him, was still staring blankly at the wall where he had been sitting moments ago. 

"There isn't a cure." It was a statement more than a question, and yet she felt the need to get it out in the open. The Director shook his head. "Stark's working on one. It wouldn't be done in time. At most you've got a week," he replied, watching as her head whipped towards him. "Stark doesn't know who the cure is for, relax," he added, watching the fire die in her eyes. He wouldn't want Tony to know if he was dying either. 

Natasha dragged her hands off the table and turned fully to face him, her expression carefully blank. "Why are you telling me? Why not just let me go on until I die?" She asked, cursing herself on the inside. If she had just been a little quicker, a little smarter, she wouldn't be in this position. Wouldn't be dying. At this Fury straightened, folding his arms. "Your whole life you've lived through one lie after another. Figured you might like the truth for once," he said simply, walking towards the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning his head to peer at her. "And you have some things to settle." With that, she was alone in the room. 

\-----------

Clint stood at the head of, coincidentally, a different table in a different conference room. SHIELD had a lot of meeting rooms. And a lot of meetings. Well, technically it was a debriefing. A few other veteran agents sat around the table, listening in silence while he went over the mission file in front of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed familiar red hair at the door and suppressed a smile. He didn't question why Natasha had come in- they were senior agents, they could go where they wanted. 

"So, the arrest happened at oh seven hundred in- mmf!" Well, Clint supposed, there were worse ways to have a debriefing interrupted than having your favorite red head stick her tongue down your throat. His brain was struggling to catch up to his body, and by the time he had the good sense to start kissing her back, she had withdrawn and was now dragging him by the collar towards the door. No one dared say anything, though some bewildered looks were shared as the two agents disappeared out the door. 

Clint did his best not to trip as she hauled him all the way back to their shared room, still trying to process just what the fuck was going on. Partners shared rooms to build bonds and learn habits- if you knew your partner inside and out, you could work better in tandem. For a brief second he thought she was going to turn and say something as the door clicked shut, but he was sorely mistaken. 

As soon as they were secluded Natasha turned and pushed him down onto the bed, quickly straddling his chest and bending to capture his lips once more. His thighs twitched as she teased at his lip with her tongue, pleasure overriding any sense of logic or question. Why did it matter for her reasons when she was actually _kissing_ him? Not to mention she seemed keen on taking this all the way. 

Natasha drew her lips down his jawline, finding the sensitive place where his collar met his neck and running her tongue over it. Clint couldn't contain a small moan, instantly aroused. God, he had wanted this. Sensing his interest, Natasha's hand traveled south to stroke the bulge in his SHIELD issued leather pants. Though it felt incredible, that was when his senses kicked in and logic gripped him. (Fucking logic.) 

"Tash," Clint panted, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look her in the eye. "What's happening?" She'd been praying he wouldn't ask, that he would just let his instincts kick in and accept it, never giving a second thought as to _why_. Placing her hands on the bed on either side of his head, she met his gaze levely. "What do you think is happening Clint?" She sighed sarcastically, her hair framing her face as she looked down at him. 

Unfortunately, that dark and distant crap wasn't going to fly with him. "I mean it Natasha. Why are you doing this? Why now?" He demanded, narrowing his eyes a fraction. She wouldn't just spontaneously decide she was ready to express her feelings for him. He knew and believed wholeheartedly that she was the only woman for him, but he would patiently wait until she was ready to admit to it as well. He knew it was mutual, she just didnt think she could say it. Not to mention all the issues they would deal with when they came to terms with it. 

Natasha's brow creased and she sat up, staring down at him with a mix of expressions. He could read her no matter what she did. "Don't. Don't ask me that," she said, and he was surprised to find that she was begging him. That was setting off red alert flares in his mind. Carefully he slid her off of his chest and onto his thighs so that he could sit up; she didn't protest, merely watching him with a growing sense of defeat. Here was one thing that no amount of talking, fighting, or spying could ever change- she was helpless for the first time in a long time. 

Natasha blinked as he stroked the side of her face, worry creasing his brow. "Nat," he whispered, tilting his head slightly. "What's wrong?" She couldn't, couldn't meet Clint's gaze. It would break down her walls, and she wanted to remain strong if she was going to die. Instead she turned her head away, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "I'm dying," she said bluntly, pulling her collar back so that the little cut was visible. "Someone nicked me in that last take down. The blade was poisoned. At most I've got a week and then I'll just.. Die," she said, never meeting his gaze. He remained the only person she would ever cry in front of, and that was simply because they had been to hell and back together. When you were that close to someone, there was no point in trying to conceal something so trivial as crying.

Clint just stared at her, unable to form words. It was like someone was violently spinning the room and refused to stop, and his head was spinning with it. Natasha. Dying. Less than a week. He couldn't imagine a world without her, even though they both accepted that any random given time, any one of them could be killed. It was an occupational hazard. "Nat," he repeated softly, and that was it, all her resolve came crumbling down. Suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing into his chest. There were no actual tears, but her chest was wracked with sobs that left her gasping for breath. It just wasn't fair. Of all the shit that Natasha Romanoff put up with, this was the worst. She was tired of being the strong one, and finally, alone with Clint in their shared room, she let go. 

Clint was startled and still trying to wrap his head around this news, but understood that she needed to be comforted. Encircling her with his arms, he rested his chin on the top of her head and rubbed her back soothingly in small circles, listening silently to her choked sobs. He had never seen her beaten so low. She needed to let it out, but after a minute or two of simply holding her, he began trying to soothe her into silence. "It's okay," he murmured, running his hand through her short, curly locks. "Its going to be alright. Calm down, just take deep breaths and calm down," he instructed gently, tilting her head up to look at her. 

He wasn't surprised to find that at some point tears had escaped, leaving a wet trail down her cheeks that shone in the dimly lit room. Clint meticulously used his thumb to wipe them away; she enjoyed the warmth of his calloused hands on her face. It was comforting, and it could also be the last time she felt them there. 

"We'll find a way to keep you alive," he began, silencing her as she began to protest. "Tasha, when have we ever given up that easily? You're still alive- that's reason enough to find something. A cure, a solution, anything. Dammit, you just kissed me. There's no way in hell I'm letting you die now," he said fiercely, meeting her gaze. Natasha nodded numbly, not believing it for a second. If Tony Stark couldn't find a solution, she doubted anyone else could. 

"I'm not afraid," she said quietly, their gazes still locked. They both knew whatever sort of afterlife that waited for them wouldn't be good, whether Hell or the Underworld. Death was a familiar thing. "I just.. I'm not ready to die. I always thought it would be sudden, not drawn out waiting," she sighed, shutting her eyes. The anticipation alone was driving her up the wall. 

Leaning forward, Clint surprised her by gently pressing his lips to hers. Natasha didnt resist, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Momentarily he parted their lips, idly brushing hair out of her face. "I promise Tasha, until you actually do stop breathing, I will continue to search for a cure. I _will_ save you," he swore, resting his forehead against hers. Natasha wasn't sure she believed that, but she knew he would try. And for that, she was grateful.


	2. Peaceful Interlude

Ever since she had admitted to him her plight, they were inseparable. They always found some excuse to be touching in one way or another; a hand on the arm, their knees under a table, the discreet brushing of elbows. It was like anything less and she would disappear, because he had not held on. 

They didnt end up having sex, though. At least, not initally. Natasha had been much too vulnerable, and Clint would not take advantage of that. She was struggling, clearly, to make sense of everything. He really wanted to have something genuine with her, and allowing a grief stricken one night stand didn't seem like the way to go. It had to be real. Though, that didn't stop them from touching. Touching and feeling and familiarizing- neither wanted to forget the other. They lay in the shared bed for hours, curious fingers tracing patterns over smooth skin. She felt the ridges and contours of his muscles, feeling the tightness of his skin and the stark jutting angles. He caressed her surprisingly soft skin, his tan and calloused hands a strong contrast to the smooth paleness of her as he swept them over her sides and along the curve of her neck. They would share heated kisses late into the night, little bursts of passion that seized them and made each mad for want. Sometimes it was a greedy and fiery kiss, sometimes it was slow and passionate. It was making up for so many years of want and lust, looking but not touching, daydreaming but never hoping. Though neither would admit it to the other, they both thought about it constantly. In the quiet hours of dawn they both eventually drifted off to sleep, pressed together in a warm embrace. They slept together daily, but they had never actually held and comforted each other in this way. It was warm, and safe.   
\---  
Clint woke up the next morning to a mess of red in his face, and for a moment could not remember where on earth he was or what had happened. Natasha always kept to her side of the bed, but a quick evaluation showed that both of his arms were wrapped around her waist, keeping them flush together while they had slept. He lifted his head a fraction to admire her for a moment, garbed only in black lacy panties and bra. Her expression was peaceful for once, which made a smile flicker at his face. In sleep, everything was okay. Laying his head back down, he burried his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. She smelled distinctly like cinnamon, but there was something else there- brown sugar, perhaps? He couldn't tell. 

The action coincidentally woke Natasha, who blinked her eyes open confusedly. She could feel the warmth of his body pressed up against hers, a pair of strong arms circling her waist. She lifted her own arms to cover his, laying her hands on top of the ones that currently resided on her stomach. "Hey," Clint murmured into her ear, and she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Turning her head, she met his gaze to see him smiling right back at her. For a moment, it was like she wasn't dying. "Do I get to wake up like this every morning?" She mumbled sleepily, laying her head back down. As if for an answer, he rubbed up against her and grunted lightly. "Mhmm," he sighed, pleased by the friction.

Turning around in his grip, Natasha lay on her other side so she was facing him, her hands resting lightly just above his pectorals. "I could get used to that," she replied, a bittersweet expression on her face. She _could_ get used to it. She wouldn't get the chance. Catching on, Clint frowned and met her gaze. "Tash, don't talk like that. You think id let you die on me?" He prompted. When she didn't respond, he went to plan B and leaned forward to press their lips together. She tensed in his grip for a moment before relaxing, sliding her arms around his neck. When she felt his tongue teasing at the entrance of her mouth she complied by opening it, admitting him access. He swallowed her soft moan as he slid his tongue in, exploring her mouth and running it over her own tongue. It felt like he could swallow her whole, and at this rate she wasn't sure she minded. 

"Are you gonna do that every time I talk about dying?" Natasha breathed against his lips; he grinned, giving her lower lip another swipe with his tongue before leaning back. "Fury is gonna eat us alive if we stay in bed all day," he said instead of replying, effectively changing the subject as he sat up. She sat up as well, not bothering to conceal her near-nakedness as she rubbed at an eye. "Damn. Don't suppose I could call in dead," she muttered, throwing the covers off and standing. Clint was too distracted to reply as he stared at her, watching shamelessly as she stretched her arms way over her head. Her lithe frame bent slightly in the stretch, making her ribs slightly more defined against her chest until she relaxed again. "My eyes are up here," she reprimanded with a smirk, leaving him to blush furiously while she went into the bathroom to get ready for the day.   
\-----  
"That was the worst debriefing I've ever had. I mean it this time," Clint complained, walking down the hall with Natasha following at his side. He was slightly slouched, the protrusion of his lower lip betraying a pout. "Clint, it took you two whole minutes to realize everyone was staring at you," she retorted, a big smirk plastered to her face. It had been hard for her to concentrate with him feeling up her leg with his foot under the table. However, he must've been having some sort of fantasy to go with the action, because the archer had really zoned out. _"Agent Barton, are we interrupting you, or can you get some tissues and allow us to move on?"_ His expression when Fury said that had been priceless. He mumbled something incoherrent under his breath, still sulking about it ten minutes later. 

Natasha actually laughed and put a hand on his arm, getting his attention. "Yup, you're the talk of the agency, your life is ruined. Now come on, if we have to meet Stark I'd rather not be late. That man is an ass already, he doesn't need an excuse to berate us," she scolded, dragging him along until he stopped lolly gagging and followed at a normal pace. Clint huffed once before straightening, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Fine, but don't tell him," he added; she just rolled her eyes and kept walking.   
\---  
The car ride to the tower (which had been renamed the Avengers tower after New York happened) was fairly uneventful. Apparently, taxi drivers were used to having people make out in the back seat. Plus, they didnt really mind when you paid them well. The partners' intimate moments were becoming slightly more desperate in the sense that they couldn't get enough of one another. It took a lot of untangling to separate limbs and get out of the car after arriving, though it was pretty funny. They didnt dare risk it in the elevator ride up for fear that Tony had cameras, or that his AI Jarvis would tell on them. With some straightening of clothes and reapplication of make up, they were both presentable when the doors opened. 

Tony was not immediately in sight, but that wasnt surprising. In fact, they could hear music pumping from somewhere within that was definitely Stark-approved. "You know," Clint began, "I bet he'd come running if we set off a pipe bomb.." Natasha rolled her eyes for the second time that day, though she did look thoughtful. "Nah, he'd get a kick out of it somehow. Come on," she replied, leading the way through the jungle of halls and doors. The room that was unmistakeably a lab was where they stopped. Instead of knocking, Clint opened the door and held it for her. "Ladies first," he said with a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I don't think many people read this anyway (love the people that do <3 ) but I've been struggling to find motivation.

The blow to the gut he received for his 'flattery' wasn't enough to break anything, but it still hurt like hell.

"Thanks," Natasha replied with a haughty smile, sauntering past his hunched form and ignoring his whimpers of outrage. He should've known by now not to say things like that. Walking into the lab, she raised an eyebrow at the sheer noise level of machines whirring and music blaring, turning to the small control panel on the wall and turning off the heavy metal. Exactly two beats of silence went by before there was an angry 'hey!' and a head popped out from behind a machine.

Stark's face was darker than she remembered -probably from the heat of the machines- and his eyes were concealed by a pair of goggles.

"Oh, it's you. What's wrong with Hawkward?" Tony asked, his gaze on Clint in the doorway. He was still clutching his stomach, really making a big deal of nothing.

"He's being a baby," Natasha replied with a roll of her eyes, turning back to the engineer and coming further into the room. The place was a bit of a mess, tools lying everywhere and things cluttered in piles. It gave off a controlled chaos type of atmosphere, though she wasn't about to lecture him about cleanliness. They had more important things to discuss.

"Fury sent us over to check your progress on the cure," she lied, folding her arms and peering at the mess of formulas and papers on his table. Meanwhile Clint had finally manned up and entered the room, muttering to himself and rubbing his stomach before turning to Tony.

"You're done, right? We need that yesterday," he said seriously- the matter struck close to home, and while Tony was probably doing the best he could, it just wasn't enough for him. It could never be enough, not if it meant Natasha died.

"Yeah, about that," the engineer coughed, gaining the attention of both assassins. "It's a dead end. There's literally no way to synthesize a cure, and-" He was cut off as Clint stalked forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, slamming him into the wall.

"There's got to be a way," the archer snarled, panic and rage fueling his thoughts. Natasha couldn't die from this, it just wasn't right. There had to be something they were missing, or the engineer wasn't trying hard enough, or something! Tony stared at him with wide eyes, clutching at the arm pressed into his neck.

"There isn't!" He wheezed, actually a little bit terrified. He may make jokes about Clint now and then, but the guy was a badass, and pretty damn scary when he wanted to be. "I've tried everything! I've never seen a formula like this before- If I didn't know better, I'd say this poison wasn't from earth. I'm sorry," he explained quickly. After a moment Clint stepped away, releasing the billionaire, who slid to the ground coughing and clutching at his neck.

A hand on his shoulder made him whirl around, but it was only Natasha. Her expression was surprisingly calm, an understanding in her gaze.

"Clint," she said quietly, ignoring the way he tensed up. "It's okay. We'll find something else." She knew the odds; she'd probably die before they reached a solution. Still, she hated to see him so torn up. He had to keep faith, because if he didn't, no one else would. His expression hardened for a moment, and she thought perhaps she hadn't gotten through to him. Then it softened and he nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Whether he liked it or not, she was right. This couldn't be the thing that broke them. He marveled at how she could be so strong, so calm, but then again, she'd always been so much stronger than him.

"Thank you Tony. We'll let you know if we find something else," Natasha said at last, giving the disgruntled engineer a last look before leading Clint out of the lab. Tony scrambled to his feet, still bewildered and trying to piece things together.

"Wait! What the hell is going on? Hello?!" He shouted after them, but his only response was the sound of the automatic doors swishing shut in their wake.

\-------------

Natasha was silent for a long time. They left the tower, called a cab, and had been driving for twenty minutes, yet she was still silent. Her gaze was stoic, gaze locked on the back of the chair in front of her. Clint almost wished she was screaming or crying- at least there would be some sort of emotion there. This.. she already looked dead.

"Tash? You okay?" He asked finally, reaching for her hesitantly. She didn't respond, but she did look down at their joined hands. "It's gonna be okay, you know that, right?" He asked, giving her hand a squeeze. Any other day she probably would've hated being coddled, but he got the distinct feeling she needed it now. She needed to be grounded, and reminded that she wasn't dead yet.

"Do you remember that mission in Shanghai? When everything fell to shit? This is how it felt," Natasha said out of the blue, but he knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd taken a fall from his perch and knocked himself unconscious. When he'd woken up, she was next to his bed in medical, just happy to see him awake again. It was like that in a way, except instead of waiting for her to wake up, he was waiting to see if she died.

"Nothing's gonna happen to you," Clint insisted firmly, narrowing his eyes. "There has to be something.. remember what Tony said? The poison might not be from here. Space, aliens, you know? So we could talk to Thor, and Jane Foster," he suggested, starting to perk up. "Yeah, that's it. See, everything will be fine," he rambled, finding hope again. Maybe they would fix this. Natasha could only give him a small smile. She wasn't convinced, but it was their only hope at this point.


End file.
